


Love of My Life

by potted_plant



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Play, American pretends to know about England but fails miserably, Bed-Wetting, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Diapers, Fluff and Angst, Footnotes, I'm sorry Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Slow Build, agnostic person pretends to know about the Bible and fails miserably, eventually, excessive use of footnotes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potted_plant/pseuds/potted_plant
Summary: After his Fall, Crowley felt unloved and un-cared for by his Mother and Creator, leaving him lost and lonely, unable to feel the Heavenly love that he once took for granted. That is, until a certain ethereal being came into his life.Or, that trope where Crowley was disowned by Mummy Dearest and he feels like he needs to relive his "childhood." Aziraphale is happy to help him out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! This is my first Good Omens fic, as well as the first kind of self-indulgent piece of fiction I've ever posted. Just to put here as another warning, this story is going to contain a lot of non-sexual age play, meaning a grown adult person acting like a child. There will also probably be some diaper use in this, so if that's not your thing please click away. Stay safe out there, guys!
> 
> I've come out of hiding! If you have any ideas and/or things you might want to see, hit me up over @ pottedplantao3 on tumblr!

Crowley never had a childhood, per se. That much was obvious, given that no angels (fallen or otherwise) had one, either, strictly speaking. Of course, he _could _think of his time as an angel as his childhood, as there were some striking similarities between his past self and what he’d observed from human children, but he didn’t want to think about that, did he?

Although it was a bit fuzzy, he could recall his Creation. First, nothing. Later, _Everything_. He could faintly remember the warm feeling that was simply _being in Heaven_. He’d had a job, too. Hanging the stars. More than that, though, he could remember being gullible, foolish. Naïve. He’d talked to Lucifer. He’d hung around with the others, listening to their words and taking them to heart. Maybe they were right. Perhaps he _should_ be asking questions? Nobody had really thought to before, after all, Her word was Absolute. There was no need to question it.

Still though, questions and doubts started creeping into his head: What are the stars even for? Why go through all the trouble? Why did She Create us? Why was She even here in the first place?

The one that finally did it, though, the one that made him Fall, was a lot simpler.  Once She’d announced her Great Plan to everyone, about the humans and whatnot, they’d all been excited, except Crowley. [1]

Don’t get him wrong, he was excited, too,[2] but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with her Plan. _Another Creation?_ He’d thought, _Isn’t She happy with the ones She’s got? _Furthermore, with a new Creation to be worrying over, would She even have the time to care about Her first-borns?

_Will She love them more than us?_

That was it. As catastrophic as it was, the question he Fell for was something that probably would’ve been said by the spawn of the beings he couldn’t help but question in the first place. It was something a young child would ask if they were going to have a new sibling. How ironic.

He’d stood before Her when it happened. All the other angels were gathered around the Traitors, stoically quiet and reserved; perhaps afraid of what might come to them should they have a little _empathy_, for once. She’d planned a whole long speech about blasphemy. “You’ve disappointed me,” She’d said, “Perhaps you can learn from this.”

“But know this,” She added, softening Her voice, “you’re all still my children, and it pains me to see this through,” which, to Crowley now looking back on it, was a load of bollocks.

And that was it.

With a wave of Her hand, Crowley felt himself being ripped from his home, and his family. He fell ever downward for what felt like an eternity, his throat growing weary from his screaming, until it all stopped. For a moment, he was at peace. He’d stopped falling, instead simply floating as little embers freckled the space around him. Despite the eerie calmness surrounding him, something deep inside of Crowley told him to hold his breath, and he did.

Suddenly, pain. A great deal of it.[3] Every inch of his body was blanketed in boiling sulfur, which coated even the deepest recesses of his being. He could feel his eyes burn with intensity, as if they were being prodded with a pick the temperature of the sun. He felt his wings—his beautiful, white, Heavenly wings—being burned to a crisp, leaving only a heap of burnt flesh in their place. Then, to his dismay, little pinpricks of new feathers started to grow on the unhealed masses, sending jolts of shooting pain through his back. He could faintly sense that these were not normal feathers, and as they continued to grow outward, he could see the tips of messy, black primaries peeking into his periphery.

And his _legs_. Good _God_. They ached with such ripping, agonizing intensity that he was sure he would never walk again. Perhaps he would have to struggle to fly with his new wings if he ever found a way out of this Pit. If he’d tried to move the offending appendages, they would _burn_ like the sulfur which surrounded him.

Now, all of this was well and good. While it had admittedly been painful up to that point, as Crowley looked back upon his Fall, the only real pain he could remember what was came _afterward_.

Boiling sulfur be damned, the _real _pain was what clawed through his chest, and into his very soul. His Grace. The only thing that, until that point, tethered him to the Lord Above. It was his essence, his life force, his only reason for living through all the torment and punishment his Mother had put him through in this eternity of flame, and it was being ripped from him like it was nothing.

To try to explain this sensation to humans was quite a difficult task, as Crowley had learned in his numerous years of befriending, getting drunk with, and explaining his demonic origin story to humans he’d known in his time on Earth. To put it simply, imagine your heart, beating away in all its glory. Now, you know that feeling you get when a loved one passes away? Someone who you’ve known all your life, or perhaps a beloved animal that you’ve loved for as long as you can remember. Imagine the grief you feel in that moment. There’s a certain sensation in your chest that feels like ice and fire simultaneously being pushed into your heart. It’s sort of like that, but multiplied to infinity.

Crowley had just had the only connection to his family, the only people he’d ever had any reason to love, severed without a second thought. He’d been disowned. He’d been Damned.

When he awoke, lying on his stomach in a cold, dark, and damp space, he felt hollow. Instead of the usual pulsing of his Grace where a human heart would be, he felt nothing, and that was the worst part of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Well, Raphael, actually, but that’s neither here nor there. He wasn’t worthy of that name anymore, anyway. [return to text]
> 
> 2 He was, after all, still an Angel of the Lord. It’s sort of in their hypothetical genes to be excited and/or completely accepting about anything God was planning. Especially if it happened to be another Creation. [return to text]
> 
> 3 Raphael had never experienced pain quite like this before, but that was mostly because he had never experienced pain in Heaven at all. Such a concept didn’t exist at the time. [return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

It was 3:43 in the morning, and Crowley had woken up in tears, something that had happened with growing frequency over the past few centuries. Wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand, he sleepily strode into his en-suite. As he splashed some cool water in his face, trying in vain to hide his shame from himself (and also probably his houseplants, should they spot him showing any sign of weakness), he found himself staring in the mirror, at his eyes.

Since his Fall, he’d abhorred the little bastards. His eyes had been so beautiful Before, as an angel, not that he’d ever admit it at the time, what with pride being a sin and all. They were honey-colored with little flecks of brown, and they certainly didn’t have the disgusting snake-like pupils he had never quite gotten used to in his new life.

Sure, Aziraphale said he thought they were pretty, but it had only been that _one _time, and they’d been drunk. Angels are supposed to love everything, anyway. “Supposed to” being the key words there, as Crowley didn’t think any other angel fit the “being of love” description quite like Aziraphale. He’d always been slightly off, Crowley thought, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

Whenever confronted with his eyes like this, Crowley couldn’t help but recall That Day. The day he’d learned how they changed. He would never forget the first time he saw his eyes.

Many humans (and most angels) failed to understand how the whole Great Fall _actually _occurred. While most assume that everyone who Fell immediately assumed their new demonic roles, they couldn’t be more wrong. You know what they say about people who _assume _things.

When he felt aware enough, Crowley could hear the other Fallen crying and comforting each other. Seems they’d had a similar experience to him. When he finally sat up and looked around, however, he could see that all the angels he’d known in his previous home looked a bit…different, to say the least. Their auras, once a brilliant white, had gone dark. Crowley couldn’t see his own aura, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his met the same fate. Everyone’s wings looked charred and black, the wounds still healing from the sulfur. Some didn’t even have wings at all, anymore.

The space he found himself in was grimy and filthy. Dark ooze covered the walls and a thin film of sticky he-didn’t-even-want-to-know-what coated the ground.

Crowley spotted an angel he’d known Before, and all but dashed over to her.

Imamiah[1] was hunched over on the ground, holding her head in her hands and weeping. Crowley cautiously sat next to her, feeling tears he hadn’t noticed before falling onto his cheeks. He hesitated a bit before gingerly placing his hand on the other fallen angel’s shoulder.

Crowley had been expecting a few things when Imamiah looked up at him. He had expected her to probably start openly sobbing (as Crowley rather felt like doing, in the moment), he expected Imamiah to hug him for comfort, even. What he got was neither of those things. Instead, when she turned her teary eyes to him, she _screamed._

Crowley was taken aback, he recoiled quickly, thinking he’d perhaps made some grand misstep.

“Raphael, your eyes!” she’d screamed, her voice suddenly overcome with intense sobs.

His eyes? What could possibly be wrong with—?

_Oh._

He’d caught a glimpse of his face in a puddle on the ground. In place of his usual honey-colored ones, a pair of bright yellow, beast-like eyes stared back at him. The pupils weren’t round like they were before, instead looking rather like straight lines which extended straight up and down, giving them a snake-like appearance (if snakes had existed back then).

He couldn’t keep it in at that point. Quite literally everything had been taken from him. Everything he’d known to be a constant in his life in Heaven was suddenly gone, and for what? Asking a harmless question?

When he came to, Crowley found himself staring into the mirror, still. He didn’t know how long it’d been, but all the water droplets in the sink had evaporated, so he guessed it had been a little while. He was teary-eyed again, too. Fantastic.

Whenever Crowley had episodes like this, he always felt a bit _different _afterward. Smaller, if that made sense. Even before the advent of the Internet, Crowley knew he was experiencing something only a few people would understand.

It seemed that whenever he was in a state of stress, he would “regress,” as the humans had called it, to a version of himself that was younger. Though he had never experienced a childhood for himself in the way that humans did, he sort of incorporated what he’d observed from children over the years into his own actions, when he got like this.[2]

It didn’t take a master psychologist to figure out why Crowley felt like this sometimes. He never had a real childhood, and his Mother Who Art in Heaven had disowned him. He couldn’t relate to the other demons in Hell, as he’d been on Earth for far too long; though, if he was being honest with himself, once they’d all decided to be rebellious and started being dangerous, he couldn’t relate to them anymore, anyway. Once he’d been sent to Earth to “make some trouble,” he’d felt completely and utterly alone. Even his New Family, it seemed, didn’t want him around them anymore. He’d been abandoned for the second time, and quite honestly it was getting on his nerves. He wanted some stability, damn it all. Though Crowley would never admit this aloud, nor in his head, even, deep down he wanted to feel loved. He wanted to feel validated and feel looked after, like he had felt in Heaven before it all.

Though it pained him to admit it, Crowley had allowed himself a few comfort objects when he was in a state like this, so he could calm his nerves. One of these was a blanket Aziraphale had given him after he had to stop playing Nanny for Warlock, as a sort of souvenir for the years he looked after the boy.[3] It was very small, but it was just like one Warlock had when he was a baby. Crowley couldn't get over how nice it was of Aziraphale to give this to him.

The other comfort object which Crowley kept was a pacifier. It was one that had been specifically made for adults, and even though Crowley felt ashamed for having it in the first place, it was his number one source of comfort whenever he was in this state. 

And so Crowley returned to his bed, taking the blanket and pacifier out from one of his drawers. He gingerly laid down, rubbing the corner of the blanket between his right thumb and finger, trying to feel a little less lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Imamiah had been one of Crowley’s close acquaintances before the Fall. Though they worked in different departments, they had always gotten along rather well. Once, Imamiah had gifted Crowley a chalice which said, “You’re a star,” which was an admittedly terrible pun. Heaven left a few things to be desired when it came to comedy. A few days later, Imamiah received a chalice in return with “Reach for the Mars” tacked on. They’d been friends ever since. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Which was quite often, nowadays. [return to text]
> 
> 3 After all, you can't just look after a child for 10 years without developing an affection for him. [return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I didn't know how to end this chapter so..............here ya go lmao

Crowley, with his demonic nature, was very distrusting of others. In his mind, everyone he’d ever met had the potential to hurt him, be it intentional or not. This was not always the case, of course. Aziraphale had always been the exception, and Crowley had known this since he’d first met him 6,000 years ago, all the way back in Eden.

_ “Didn’t you have a flaming sword? You did, it was flaming like anything. What happened to it?”_

_ “…Igaveitaway.”_

_ “You _what_?”_

_ “I gave it away!”_

Honestly, the fact that the angel didn’t smite[1] him where he had been standing was good enough for Crowley, then Crawly. As they grew more accustomed to each other over the last few thousand years, Crowley had taken quite a liking to his Adversary, though he felt the term was more of a formality than anything. In fact, for the last couple of years, he and Aziraphale had been “hanging out,” as the younger humans were saying nowadays. They would often meet each other for a little wining and dining, mostly the former.

Tonight was one of those aforementioned meetings, and Crowley was nervous as all Hell. This would be the first time they would have a little meet-up in his flat. For years, Crowley was afraid that Aziraphale would find one of his “little comforts.” Though he knew realistically he had nothing to worry about, as he made sure to _always _put away anything he ever used when he had his “down time,” he was also paranoid in general. Being from Hell does that to a person.

He had double-, no, _triple-_checked everything. For six thousand years, Crowley had made sure a certain nosy angel would never have any inkling of his secret, and he was intent on keeping it that way. All of his “little” items were in one of his dresser drawers,[2] and surely the angel had the common decency to not snoop around _that _much.

A friendly knock sounded from the door to his flat.

Shit.

With a snap of his fingers, the door to his flat opened, letting Aziraphale in. At this point, Crowley was extremely nervous. Instead of letting that nervousness consume him entirely, he decided it would be more worth his time to actually _greet _his guest.

“Hey, angel,” he decided on.

He received a friendly smile in return, “Hello!”

The way Aziraphale held himself had always fascinated Crowley. His posture was immaculate, as if he were still keeping up the trends of the mid-1800’s (which he definitely was). He’d held himself this way since Eden, though, so it couldn’t be that. Perhaps it had to do with being an angel. Had Crowley held himself that way before he Fell?

Eventually, Crowley got to the point. He had purchased a nice bottle of Dom Pérignon[3] which he’d been holding onto for a special occasion. He figured stopping the apocalypse was reason enough to celebrate. Not to mention both the angel and demon had Heaven and Hell off their respective backs for the time being.

And so, they drank. Quite a lot, actually. Enough to where Crowley would normally stop, for fear of blurting out a particular secret of his. Thankfully, his mouth didn’t betray him; rather, his actions did.

It seemed that when Crowley was _double-triple-checking _that _certain things_ were in order, he’d forgotten to check his bedside table. As it turned out, although the angel didn’t ever feel the need to sleep normally, Aziraphale was feeling quite knackered at the moment. When in a mood such as this (especially when he was this inebriated), he couldn’t keep his emotions in check. He felt he’d been in love with Crowley since he’d saved his books all those years ago in the church.[4] Though he wasn’t quite sure how Crowley felt, for, as much as it pained him to think it, he’d always been told demons don’t feel love. This wasn’t true, obviously. Maybe.

Surely Aziraphale had seen Crowley showing casual affection in the numerous years they’d spent together. They’d had their ups and downs, but for the most part the two were practically always together, especially for occasions such as this.

Realistically, all Aziraphale wanted to do in this moment was to pounce on the demon like a wild cat. In actuality, he was more reserved. Even in his drunken haze, he kept control.

Crowley was not so in-control. He was starved for affection, and the two had known each other since practically the dawn of time. For so long, they had tried to keep a safe distance from the other, for fear of Heaven or Hell finding out about their “fraternization.” Since that little body-switching stunt they pulled, however, Upstairs and Downstairs seemed to not want anything to do with them. It was a new world, now. Might as well do something with it. They had just helped stop the apocalypse, after all.

And so Crowley offered his bed to Aziraphale. The aforementioned angel was in the sleeping mood, even though he rarely ever felt the need for it. Perhaps he had gone native, after all. It would explain some things.

He accepted. Crowley collapsed onto one side of the bed. He was out like a light.

Aziraphale, even his in drunken state, had standards. He was dressed in tartan pajamas with a snap of his fingers, and as he sank down into Crowley’s bed, he slowly drifted to sleep.

A few hours later, Aziraphale woke up with a throbbing headache. That’s what he gets, he supposed. With a quick thought, the pain vanished, and he did the same for Crowley, too. Aziraphale did _not _have to suppress the small smile that came onto his face when Crowley visibly relaxed in his sleep. He did _not._

The angel was about to get out of bed when he saw something unusual on the bedside table. It was red, and it looked like a baby’s soother. Strange, he thought, what would that be doing here? He picked the (larger than usual) thing up, inspecting it closely. Yes. It was absolutely a pacifier. Why did Crowley have it? Surely he should ask, but that could wait until they were both awake.

He fluttered about for a little while, thinking it might be a good deed to water Crowley’s numerous houseplants. Crowley did not have to know about the very nice things he was saying to them.

_ “What beautiful leaves you have!”_

_ “My, is that a spot? That’s quite alright, it will heal with time.”_

_ “Good gracious! You are quite possibly the most handsome string of pearls I have ever seen!”_

Eventually, Crowley did wake up. It wasn’t very graceful, but he was, in fact, awake. He ambled into the plant room only to see Aziraphale, still in his flat. The thought made him smile, internally.

“Oi, angel, you weren’t being nice to my plants, were you?” he croaked out, voice dripping with sleep.

Aziraphale, caught in the act, dropped the watering can he was using in faux-defeat. “Now, Crowley. It wouldn’t _kill _you to be kind to them once in a while.”

Crowley smirked, recalling a similar conversation he’d had with Aziraphale, “I’m a _demon_. I’m not _kind._ Kind is a four-letter word.”

Aziraphale looked at him then, wearing a smirk of his own, “I get the feeling that, as a demon, you’re rather used to using a lot of four-letter words, dear.”

“Touché, angel.”

Later, the two were sitting on Crowley’s sofa, contemplating having a nice quiet day in to celebrate the New World. Crowley knew that Aziraphale would probably want to go out to eat, though, so he didn’t expect on staying in _all _day.

It was a comfortable silence, like they’d been living together for years, and neither one of them minded it. That is, until Aziraphale mentioned a certain something.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but what was that red thing on your bedside table?”

Red thing? Crowley didn’t own many red things. The only red thing that came to his mind was…no. Couldn’t possibly be.

He played it off, “Red thing?”

“Yes. Red thing. It looked very much like a baby’s soother.”

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 The author would like to formally apologize for not using the correct past tense “smote” or the past participle “smitten.” They both look wrong and I hate them.[return to text]
> 
> 2 Crowley didn’t really need to keep a dresser. He performed a minor demonic miracle whenever he needed to dress himself, but he liked the aesthetics of keeping the old thing. It added a certain “human-ness” to his flat, should a human ever find themselves there, which none would, if they knew what was good for them.[return to text]
> 
> 3 Crowley had always found that producing wine from thin air, while preferable, left it with a bit of a metallic, magic-y aftertaste. Obtaining it the human way was always the way to go.[return to text]
> 
> 4 Though, Aziraphale knew he’d really loved him since the very Beginning, in Eden.[return to text]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> like if u crie evrytim e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any ideas for other stories and/or things you might wanna see, hit me up on tumblr @ pottedplantao3 !!!

So Aziraphale knew. Fantastic. Super bloody great. This was just the _best _thing that could have happened.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t very well just come out with “Yes, Aziraphale, it _is _a soother because sometimes I feel inconsolably small and I have to act like a little human child for a little while to get my mind off of my trauma.” He couldn’t just _say _that.

Except, he did just say that.

Not in those words, exactly, but still very much _that_.

He’d tried to deny it at first, “Oh, that? S’just uh…decoration.”

“Decoration?”

“Yeah,” he tried to wave it off, but he knew full well he was panicking inside.

Aziraphale was catching on to that, too, “You seem nervous, dear boy.”

So many things were running through Crowley’s mind at that point. Aziraphale was catching on. He _knew_, didn’t he? He was playing mind games. How did Aziraphale always know what Crowley was feeling? Could angels read minds? Had Aziraphale known all this time, but he was too polite to say anything?

_ Please call me “dear boy” again._

“Nervous? I’ve never been nervous. Surely, you’re joking,” he desperately tried to laugh it off. His walls were coming down.

“Crowley, I’ve known you for 6,000 years,” Aziraphale knitted his eyebrows together, “I know when you’re anxious. You’re afraid to show your emotions, and, quite frankly, I’m worried about you. It can’t be good for you to hold everything in for so long. One day it’s all going to come out at once.”

Crowley had always hidden his emotions with either anger or humor. A demon with emotions was an oxymoron. It shouldn’t be possible. A _real _demon needed to be angry, vile, incorrigible. Ever since the Fall, Crowley tried his very hardest to be those things, he really did, but it was in vain. It simply wasn’t in his nature.

Still, though, it was tough to break old habits.

“Well, what do you want me to say, Aziraphale? Huh?” He was fuming, “Sure. Fine. Yes! It _is _a soother. Know why? ‘Cause I’m a weak, pathetic, _freak _of a demon that couldn’t get over Falling!”

Something broke when he said that. Every word he said was a crack in the dam that held his emotions. Eventually, it had to give.

The room was deathly silent for a few long seconds. Crowley had dreaded this day from the very beginning, and yet he had hoped and prayed it wouldn’t ever happen. Here it was, though, and Crowley had failed. He’d shown this vulnerable side of himself to Aziraphale. Everything he’d worked for was gone. Aziraphale wouldn’t understand, he’d told himself, Aziraphale is an _angel_. He doesn’t know what pain is.

What Crowley failed to realize, though, was that Aziraphale was a being of love, a being of _sympathy_. He’d held plague-ridden people in his arms and comforted them until their ultimate passing, convinced people in the worst situations imaginable that everything would be okay. That they were _fine_ and they were _forgiven_ and it was _okay_ to feel what they were feeling.

The two had never spoken about Crowley’s Fall before. Ever. Aziraphale had assumed it would be too painful to relive that moment, so he’d never asked. The only time he’d ever heard Crowley speak about it was in that pub, when Crowley had thought Aziraphale was dead. He’d only heard a few things when he was trying to phase into existence without a body, but all of them went straight into his non-corporeal heart like a thousand arrows.

_ “I never asked to be a demon.”_

_ “I was just minding my own business one day…”_

_ “Next thing, I’m doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulfur.”_

Aziraphale couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to Fall. He knew it would be incredibly painful, obviously, but what did it feel like to have God’s Grace pulled from you? That’s got to be the really tough bit, Aziraphale thought. He honestly could not imagine.

For so long, he’d let Crowley keep his emotions hidden, as whenever he’d try to spark some deep conversation about anything Heaven- or Hell-related, Crowley would just lash out in anger, as he was doing now. Aziraphale had been fine with letting Crowley come to terms with his feelings on his own, but that clearly wasn’t working. If he wanted something done right, it seemed he would just have to do it himself. [1]

He could sense that Crowley was trying very hard to keep his emotions in check, but his defenses were quickly failing him. Crowley needed some TLC, as the humans so eloquently put it, so, after this long period of abstaining, Aziraphale finally gave in.

He didn’t let the guarded look Crowley had in his eyes, like a rattlesnake ready to strike should he move a single finger, stop him from placing a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. Crowley looked so broken and vulnerable in that moment. Aziraphale couldn’t help the look of sympathy on his face when he finally spoke.

“Did it hurt?” his voice was quiet and delicate, as if he was speaking to a child.

Normally, Crowley would retort back with something funny and self-deprecating,[2] but he was so beaten down from his own emotions that he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than look down at the floor. He nodded, sniveling a little.

Aziraphale simply couldn’t stand the sad look on Crowley’s face. He hugged the fragile demon in an instant, gently rubbing his back to comfort him.

“Poor dear,” he said, soft as a feather, “Would you like to talk about it? It might make you feel better.”

Crowley had kept his feelings hidden from everyone for thousands of years, and yet all it took to get them out was a gentle, angelic voice encouraging him to speak.

And so he did.

He told Aziraphale _everything_. How it _did _hurt when he Fell from Heaven. How it _did _hurt when his Grace was ripped from his chest like it was nothing. How all of God’s “unconditional” love drained from him in an instant, and how he was left painfully alone in a cold, dark, unfamiliar place. How it hurt when the two had first met and Aziraphale said something about him being the _bad _one.

_ “Well it must _be _bad, if you’re involved.”_

Crowley had never cried in front of anyone before. It was cathartic, to say the least. He had always had to stay strong in front of everyone to get by. Especially in Hell. Imagine how they would see him now, crying like a little kid while he told Aziraphale all his problems. He supposed they don’t really care about him anymore. They’re probably all scared of him since Aziraphale’s exploit with the holy water. Sometimes it still hurt, though, to think about them Down There. They hadn’t been bad angels, either. They simply asked questions, just as he did. It was what they chose to do afterward that set them apart.

Strange how being kicked out could lead to becoming a proper hellion, wasn’t it?

Aziraphale rocked and shushed Crowley for what felt like an eternity. Time was relative for ethereal beings, but even then, it seemed to drag on. He couldn’t stand seeing Crowley this upset, especially since he knew the being responsible for all his pain. He wished he could have a word with the Woman Upstairs, just for a moment, so he could tell Her what She’d caused. She probably knew, though. She always Knew. Perhaps She didn’t care.

The thought made the angel sick.

After a while, Crowley stopped sniveling, instead preferring to hold Aziraphale as tightly as possible while the angel continued to rub his back, whispering kind words into his ear. He could spend an eternity like this, but he was coming up from feeling as small as he was, just a bit. He felt intensely bad about making Aziraphale comfort him like this. He hadn’t asked for all this emotional baggage.[3]

Instead of saying anything of the sort, though, as Crowley had expected, Aziraphale simply stood the both of them up, and led Crowley to his bed. As it turned out, crying took a lot out of a person.

Crowley couldn’t remember a whole lot after that, being as exhausted as he was. When he woke up, though, he found a certain red object had been placed in his mouth, and a note on his bedside table telling him to come to a certain bookshop whenever he felt ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 You can’t just go to a human therapist about these things. [return to text]
> 
> 2 “What, when I Fell from Heaven?” [return to text]
> 
> 3 He had, actually. Crowley refused to think that this was anything other than his own fault. [return to text]


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale desperately tries to figure out how the hell to google something for like 2 hours, probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've learned how to use HTML and you can't stop me.
> 
> See also: How many commas can I fit into a single sentence?

_“Crowley,_

_I realize you may want some time to yourself after last night. It must have been very difficult for you to open up about everything, but I am very proud of you for doing so. When you’re ready, and if you would like, I have a nice cup of tea here for you at the shop. _

_With love,_

_Aziraphale”_

He had read and re-read the letter multiple times over the course of the morning. Aziraphale still wanted to talk with him? It didn’t make any sense. Why would anyone want to deal with Crowley’s needy and vulnerable side? Sure, Aziraphale was caring at heart, but even he had to have limits. Surely he wouldn’t want to be burdened when Crowley was feeling little, would he?

Though, when Crowley thought about it, Aziraphale had said he was worried about him. Nobody had ever said that to him before. He didn’t think anyone cared enough to. The angel had held him close and comforted him, too. No one had ever done that before, either. Though, to be fair, Crowley didn’t make a habit of crying out his feelings to everyone he’d ever met.

In all his years of trying to hide and control his own emotions and thoughts, last night had been the only time Crowley had truly felt okay. Maybe Aziraphale was right this _one _time. Perhaps it was fine to show one’s emotions from time to time, to keep something like last night from happening ever again. It had been cathartic, sure, but it had also been _ugly_.

Crowley wanted to hide from Aziraphale forever, but also be as close to Aziraphale as physically possible. It was a strange sensation.

After coming to the conclusion that he could no longer stand one more second without seeing Aziraphale after the emotionally draining night he had, Crowley put his day clothes on with a snap of his fingers and hopped in the Bentley.

He drove at a leisurely pace of 82 mph before arriving at A. Z. Fell & Co. The shop was closed, as was per usual what with Aziraphale’s erratic opening and closing schedule. Crowley entered anyway.

Suddenly, Crowley felt very timid. He didn’t usually feel timid, but the previous night had taken a lot out of him, and he just knew Aziraphale would want to _talk _about it. He wasn’t too sure about his decision to come here so soon, presently.

It seemed Aziraphale was happy to see him, though. Crowley had the sneaking suspicion that the angel could almost sense his energy, just as Crowley could sense Aziraphale’s. It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to greet his guest.

After a genuine smile and a pleasant, “Hello, dear,” Aziraphale led Crowley to an almost secret inner room of the bookshop which Aziraphale only reserved for Crowley and himself. In this room was one of the many desks Aziraphale owned, a bright red, ornate chair, and a gold, antique sofa, amongst many, _many_ books which lined the walls. These were Aziraphale’s favorite books, and Crowley wouldn’t dare touch them. He knew how particular the angel was about that sort of thing.[1]

He perched himself on the arm of the sofa as Aziraphale poured the two of them cups of tea from a pot which had appeared from thin air. Crowley was dreading what was to come after the comfortable silence the two were sharing at the moment. He knew Aziraphale would want to talk about the night before, obviously, but he didn’t know what Aziraphale would think of it. Aziraphale wasn’t, Crowley thought, looking at him any differently than how he normally would, which was a good sign. Would that last, though? Would there come a point where his angel would only see him as a little kid? Maybe he would even feel sorry for him, a thought which Crowley couldn’t bear.

As if Aziraphale could sense Crowley’s apprehension, Aziraphale offered a kind smile, as well as the cup of tea he had been pouring. Crowley took it, but wasn’t sure he was up to drinking anything.

“Before you start thinking yourself to death over last night, I do want to tell you that I’m rather proud of you for allowing yourself to be vulnerable,” Aziraphale said, “It took you long enough,” he added cheekily.

Crowley rolled his eyes, a bit embarrassed from the ‘proud of you’ remark. And from the whole situation in general. He took a sip from his teacup as an excuse not to speak.

Aziraphale noticed this. Aziraphale always noticed.

“I must ask, though, why did you feel the need to hide that side of yourself away for all those years?” Here we go with the hard-hitting questions. It was like Crowley was being interviewed.

Crowley took another sip of tea. It was actually quite good.

Despite wearing sunglasses, he turned his eyes to the floor to avoid Aziraphale’s own. Something about how genuine Aziraphale was being at the moment made Crowley feel a little sick. He actually always felt a little sick around Aziraphale. Not in a literal sense, as demons don’t contract any human illnesses, and not in a bad way, either. It felt like the place in his corporation where his stomach would be was swarming with little fluttering beetles.[2]

Eventually, he did answer, “‘S not like I thought anyone would get it, or be willing to put up with it, for that matter.” _Least of all, you_.

Aziraphale, admittedly, wasn’t one for modern technology. Least of all computers. He didn’t understand the darned things at all, but after Crowley’s admission the night before, he had booted up his old 1990’s-era desktop which, until that point, he had only ever used to do his taxes. Calculators, he could understand, but ever since this whole Internet thing had popped up, Aziraphale had absolutely no clue. After a lot of struggle, he was finally able to access the World Wide Web, as the heavy instruction manual he was using had called it.

Tentatively, and using only his index fingers, he typed out his desired destination:

HTTP, shift and semicolon, forward-slash, forward-slash (again), W W W, period, GOOGLE, period, COM

What a workout. How did people do this all the time?

He had spent a long while searching up various terms related to what Crowley had told him,[3] and he had found a lot which piqued his interest. Apparently, this was a relatively not-unheard-of coping mechanism in humans as well. Some people did it for similar reasons to Crowley, while others simply used regression as a tool to regularly de-stress.

Coming back to Crowley’s answer, Aziraphale simply stared at the demon for a few good seconds. He simply could not believe how Crowley thought of himself. Truth be told, when Crowley had completely opened up about his “down time,” as he called it, Aziraphale understood. It must have been the most difficult thing in the entire universe to Fall. To have God’s Grace ripped from him, and then to be expected to pack it all up and pretend everything was fine? To be sent on his merry way to go make trouble on Earth? No wonder Crowley needed to regress. He needed to go back to a time where he felt that everything was perfect. Like how he’d felt in Heaven.

“’Put up with it?’” Aziraphale asked incredulously, to which Crowley only shrugged in response, “You’re mistaken if you think I wouldn’t love every part of you.”

Well, it had to come out sooner or later. He’d finally said what he’d been thinking for the past 6,000 years, and he didn’t regret it one bit.

Crowley blinked, trying to come to terms with what Aziraphale had just said. He _loved _him. How could that be possible? An angel loving a demon? He knew God’s plan was ineffable, but surely it wouldn’t go _this _far. He’d accepted long ago that his love for Aziraphale would go unreciprocated. Angels are beings of love, yes, but certainly romantic love was out of the question, even for Aziraphale.

What was even happening, right now?

“You…love me?” Crowley dared to peek at the angel’s eyes.

“Well, I thought it was rather obvious,” Aziraphale answered, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

“I…love you, too.”

And suddenly everything in their little world felt right. Like all those 6,000 years had led up to this moment. They both felt a bit warm inside.

Aziraphale smiled, “I wouldn’t mind caring for you, in your ‘down time,’ if you would be willing,” He thought it would be rather cute, to be honest, but he wouldn’t dare tell Crowley that.

“I couldn’t make you do that, angel.”

“You wouldn’t be making me do anything. If this helps you feel better, I want to help you.”

Oh no. Aziraphale had that determined look on his face. He was really in on this, wasn’t he?

He caved, “We’ll try it out _one _time. If it’s weird, we’re stopping.”

And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 _“Crowley! That is a first-edition Nostradamus, and you’re not even wearing gloves!” _[return to text]
> 
> 2 An English-speaking human would’ve called the sensation “butterflies in the stomach.” Crowley was not human. He was also from Hell, a place where Nice Things did not exist. Hence _beetles._ [return to text]
> 
> 3 “Google, could you tell me what regression is, please?” “Thank you, Google,” etc. [return to text]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I don't upload that much :(

Aziraphale and Crowley had been enjoying each other’s company for the past few weeks, slowly getting used to their new dynamic. In all honestly, though, it had been pretty much the same as before they’d started dating, just with more kisses. It was almost like they’d been dating for the last 6,000 years.[1]

Even in all the happiness and merriment, Crowley was still dreading the day that he would inevitably regress. He had been lucky, so far. It hadn’t happened in the short few weeks they had been together, but when would that luck end? When would he wake up in a cold sweat from another nightmare? 

The two had set a date when they would try it out for real, and that date was today. Crowley would try to regress voluntarily, if he could, and Aziraphale would act as his caregiver. It was terrifying to think about. The single time Crowley had fully regressed in front of Aziraphale had been just a few weeks prior, when he had completely opened up about the whole thing. He still felt a bit embarrassed by it, for lack of a better word. Ashamed. For 6,000 years, Crowley had kept it a secret. He had composed his behavior to perfection, and he had put on a façade that hadn’t been transparent (to his knowledge) for all this time, and yet his downfall was something as simple as leaving a pacifier on his nightstand. It was ridiculous. 

Crowley had also never tried to regress before, that he could remember. He definitely remembered waking up some nights in a cold sweat and, sometimes, wet sheets, from a nightmare. These moments were usually what made him feel small, but he had been known to regress from simply thinking about his Fall from time to time. 

For the last few minutes, Crowley had been sitting in bed, alone, trying to figure out how to feel younger, which was an exceptionally difficult thing to do when you hadn’t had a real childhood to base things off of. He absolutely did not want to think about the Fall. That would only make things worse. For once, he just wanted to regress without feeling the pain that he associated with it. He wanted to just get through the day, to make Aziraphale happy. 

The angel had been very excited for this day, to be brutally honest. Even Crowley could tell. Though he tried his very hardest not to show it, Aziraphale had really wanted to take care of Crowley. He deserved it, after all, for having to hide this part of himself for so long out of fear of rejection. For just once, Aziraphale thought, Crowley should be able to feel as loved and taken care of as he needed. Now that both Heaven and Hell were out of the picture for the two of them, they had felt both relieved, but also dreadfully alone. Aziraphale had never been without Heaven, of course, but the only angels he ever spoke to were of the “I want a war between Heaven and Hell so I can prove my superiority over the demons once and for all” type. Suffice to say, he never really felt like it was home there, anyway. 

Crowley had finally gotten himself to a point where he could say he was sufficiently “little.” Definitely not the youngest he’d ever gone, but still there. Though his familiar inhibitions should have been gone by this point, he was still having trouble actually getting up and going out there to meet Aziraphale. The problem, in his own mind, was that he had never really been cared for in such a way before. He was almost unwilling to start now, since he’d never had the luxury for as long as he’d been alive. Now that Aziraphale was seemingly open, ready, and willing to care for him, Crowley found it a bit scary, to say the least. How should he act? What should he do? Should he even be thinking this much about it at all? Wouldn’t it be much easier to just let himself not think about something for once, and just go with the flow? That sounded difficult.

He was saved from his own thoughts, though, by Aziraphale softly knocking on the bedroom door.[2] The angel let himself in, after carefully peeking into the room. He spotted Crowley sitting on the bed, clutching his blanket, though still in his “adult” clothes. 

“You alright in here, love?” He asked, and cooed internally when Crowley shyly nodded. This was it, then. Here goes nothing, he thought. 

Quietly, and as careful as he could be, he added, “How old are you right now, dear boy?” 

Crowley’s cheeks lit up at that, but he held up four fingers despite his embarrassment. 

Aziraphale gave him an encouraging smile before asking, “Do you want to change? Surely you can’t be comfortable in a suit jacket and jeans.” 

Crowley, again, nodded, and snapped his fingers. He was instantly dressed in a plain black t-shirt and fuzzy, grey pajama pants. Aziraphale was a bit sad that he’d kept his sunglasses on, but didn’t let it show. 

“Good lad. How about a nice spot of breakfast?” Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to follow him to the kitchen,[3] where he had prepared two beautiful plates of pancakes, complete with fruit and powdered sugar on top. 

Aziraphale had always thought Crowley was bit too skinny. Logically, he knew that Crowley didn’t need to eat, but it still worried him. Perhaps all the sugar would entice Crowley to eat, especially while he was little. 

Crowley blushed when he saw that his plate of pancakes was already cut up into little, bite-sized pieces, but he did eat, if only a little. It was more than he’d eaten in quite a while, and Aziraphale was absolutely beaming. Crowley wanted to see the angel like that more often. 

After the two were finished, Aziraphale helped Crowley wipe off his face and hands with a damp wash cloth (which Crowley did_ not _appreciate, but also made him feel just a tad smaller). Crowley was led into Aziraphale’s living room, which had a television in it. That was new. Usually Aziraphale was hesitant to include any sort of new technology in his shop. It had taken years to convince Aziraphale to get a telephone. It seemed Aziraphale had gotten a TV specifically for him. The thought made him feel all warm and tingly inside. Was that a good thing? 

He and Aziraphale both sat on the regal-yet-comfortable-looking sofa, and Aziraphale turned on the television. With a snap of his fingers, a children’s cartoon was on the screen, and a sippy cup of juice appeared in his hand. 

“In case you’re thirsty, dear boy.” 

Aziraphale did not miss the small smile that appeared on Crowley’s face at the name. 

Surprisingly, Crowley actually drank the juice. Aziraphale thought the gesture would go unheeded, but the demon seemed much more willing to eat and drink while he was little, for whatever reason. He also seemed to be a bit more clingy, but in a good way. The angel pretended not to notice his little demon getting gradually closer to him while he watched his show. 

This day was going to be an interesting one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 They were. They just hadn't noticed. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Aziraphale, though he did not usually sleep, did have a bedroom in his bookshop. It was in the very back, far away from where anyone (save for Crowley) would normally go, but it was there, tartan sheets and all. Crowley would often stay the night if he was feeling up to it, which was very frequently, nowadays. [return to text]
> 
> 3 Knowing how much of a food-lover Aziraphale was, it may come as a shock to learn that he rarely, if ever, used his kitchen. He did know how to cook, and was quite good at it, too, but why go through all the trouble when you could _always_ get a table at the Ritz? [return to text]


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of pure fluff before some sweet sweet angst in the future >:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading a ton of dialogue in fics but apparently I can't write it???? lmao  
Also there's a chapter coming out tomorrow that I really really had a good time writing, so look out for that!

Aziraphale would not dare tell Crowley this, but he had done some "preparations," so to speak. He had been looking forward to Crowley's "down time," and he simply couldn't help himself, so he decided to do some shopping. In the weeks leading up to it, Crowley had told Aziraphale not to go overboard with anything. He hadn't wanted to make a big deal out of it. Aziraphale disagreed on the grounds that: (1) it would be cute, (2) he wanted to make Crowley feel as comfortable as possible, and (3) Aziraphale had absolutely no problem looking after Crowley like this at all. Obviously, Crowley had his doubts about the whole thing, but that didn't mean he wouldn't come around to it. Even if, for some reason, the two decided not to continue this side of their relationship, Aziraphale wouldn't push it. He loved Crowley, and he respected his opinions. All he wanted to do was help Crowley feel better, and he hoped buying him a few extra things for his younger self would help that happen. 

Obviously, Aziraphale was an angel. He could conjure anything he might need from thin air with a little thought, but he refused to do anything the easy way. If he was going to look after Crowley, he would do it the human way.[1] He had gone just a tad overboard, though. Really, he had just meant to be prepared, but then he had started _thinking_, which is never a good thing. He had started with a few simple things: maybe a few more pacifiers and some stuffed toys that Crowley might enjoy. That was fine, but what about clothing? Perhaps Crowley might like a nice pair of pajamas that would be comfortable. He had bought a pair of footie pajamas which were black and patterned with little multi-colored stars, for the sole reason that Aziraphale thought they looked just darling. He had also bought Crowley a button-up onesie that was made to look like a duckling. How precious.

Of course, he was going to give Crowley some breathing room for this first time, since he was sure that Crowley would not be so willing to be taken care of after all these years of being alone. He wanted Crowley to lead the day, so he would be sure not to put too much pressure on the poor boy. 

As the day went on, though, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley seemed to be getting more and more relaxed with every passing moment. While they were watching a children's show together, he had eventually come to sprawl out on Aziraphale's lap, and he had even started sucking his thumb absentmindedly. Aziraphale readily replaced the thumb with his pacifier, making Crowley blush, but he didn't reject it.

Some time after lunch,[2] Crowley started to get very tired. It seemed like all the sugar from his breakfast had caused him to crash. From his very limited experience with small children, Aziraphale concluded that Crowley needed a nap. Thing was, though, that Crowley had been very taken with the program the two had been watching. Oh dear. Approaching this topic would be tricky.

"Crowley, why don't we lie down and have a nice nap?" This was the wrong thing to say.

"'M not tired. Don't need a nap," Crowley responded around his pacifier, very clearly rubbing his eyes out of tiredness. He sounded grumpy.

Aziraphale did not know what to do next. Clearly, Crowley was very tired. He wasn't throwing a tantrum, thank goodness, but from how tired Crowley seemed, it sounded like a possibility. 

"It could be fun! I could read you a story. What would you like me to read?" He tried.

"Don't need a nap. Not a baby."

Aziraphale would beg to differ, but he was determined to soldier on, "Not even if I ask you really nicely?"

Crowley simply shook his head.

"How about if I made you a nice cup of warm milk?"

Crowley shook his head again, noticeably more sluggishly. He was blinking very slowly, the cute little suckling noises he was making with his pacifier slowing, too. Nevertheless, he was determined to not fall asleep.

Aziraphale was at a loss. He knew that, sooner or later, Crowley would eventually fall asleep at this rate. He did have an idea that might speed up the process, though.[3] He smiled almost deviously, "Tell you what, if you take a nap, I'll get you some ice cream when you wake up."

Crowley perked up with interest at that, opening one eye and staring at Aziraphale, "Ice cream?" That was his one weakness, and Aziraphale knew it. 

"Mm-hmm," the angel confirmed cheerfully.

Crowley thought for a moment. He was tired, this he knew. Aziraphale was probably right about taking a nap, but he didn't want to go to sleep. He was having fun watching his show and being with Aziraphale.

"Can it be vanilla?" he quietly asked.

Aziraphale's plan worked, "Yes, love. Any flavor you want," Aziraphale could admit that bribery was probably not the best option here, he had made it a top priority to spoil his little demon whenever he could, even if this was going to be the only time he could do it. 

Crowley gave in and nodded, finally. He looked absolutely exhausted, though.

Aziraphale could not, in good conscience, let Crowley walk to the bedroom by himself, so he made the executive decision to carry him. He was surprised by how little the rather tall demon weighed, which only made Aziraphale more concerned for him. 

Crowley made no objections to being carried. He actually found that he liked it, not that he'd tell Aziraphale that.

Aziraphale gently placed Crowley on their bed, tucking him into the tartan sheets. He carefully removed Crowley's sunglasses, tucking them away into his vest pocket, and, in a moment of weakness, produced a little stuffed bear into his hand, and gently placed it in the demon's arms. Crowley must have been asleep by that point, as instead of questioning the new stuffed toy, he rolled over onto his side and hugged it closer to himself. He looked so peaceful and calm as he slept. Aziraphale was sure he'd never seen Crowley this relaxed before. He was quite relieved, but also in awe of how absolutely adorable Crowley looked at the moment, sleeping all soundly like that. Oh, how Aziraphale wished he owned a camera.

The angel simply smiled and kissed Crowley on his forehead before shutting off the lights in the room and heading back into his living area, letting Crowley rest in peace. He silently prayed that Crowley's dreams were as sweet as he looked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Aziraphale loved the way humans did things. It had fascinated him since Eden, when he would watch over Adam and Eve from time to time, should he be distracted from his guard (which was a common occurrence). Humans couldn't just snap things into existence, they had to work for it. [return to text]
> 
> 2 A wonderful spread of simple sandwiches that Crowley "helped" with. He did a brilliant job of setting the table for the two of them. [return to text]
> 
> 3 He also wanted to give the demon a little bit of a treat (as if the sugary pancakes weren't enough of one) for being brave and letting himself be taken care of. [return to text]


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moms are a real bitch sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a lot better at writing angst, huh. Also, I love this chapter.

As Crowley slowly drifted off to sleep, he was vaguely aware of a small, soft toy being placed in his arms. He was too tired[1] to question anything at the moment, so he simply decided it would be better to just fall asleep. This was the most at peace he had felt in years, and he was really coming around to liking being taken care of by someone other than himself, which, being honest, didn't even really happen. 

This wonderful feeling of floating and haziness didn't last long, however. Instead, it seemed his body couldn't let him get too comfortable for even just a moment before sending him off into another dreadful nightmare. He'd had his fair share of awful, scary dreams before, and he always seemed to regress shortly after. He thought that, just this once, he might be able to fall asleep without having a nightmare. He had regressed voluntarily, after all. Surely, in his pleasant mood, his mind could let him have a break for once, but no. 

Crowley could only see white. It wasn't particularly threatening, but it was _there_. It was _there _and it gave him a nasty feeling. There were no walls or floor where he was, if he was anywhere at all. There was no horizon, there was no clear divide between him and anything else. There were no other people there. It was only him, and him alone. If he looked behind himself, he could see the outline of his wings, except they weren't his wings, really. White. They were white, like how they used to be. Just like the color of the room he found himself in. It wasn't really a room. The word was more like a _space. _He was in a _space _with no color. No clear definition of anything. No reason to be feeling quite as uneasy as he did, and yet the feeling remained. 

He felt like he was in Purgatory. He'd never been, but this had to be it. There was, quite literally, nothing, save for himself. He half-expected Azrael to appear at any moment. Death didn't come, though. Nothing came, not here. 

Still, though, there was a sensation in his chest, like being prodded with a white hot iron. Something was here, he just couldn't see it. This was new. His nightmares before had merely been memories. He hadn't realized that demons could even _really _dream in the first place. Aziraphale had said once that he was the only demon with an imagination, but that couldn't possibly mean he could be dreaming, could it?

He heard a sound coming from behind him, and turned to look, frightened still from the sensation in his chest, which was slowly increasing in intensity. He couldn't see anything. Just white. 

Another sound, like someone was hitting a steel beam with a metal bat, this time in front of him. He turned, and again nothing. 

He felt he could do nothing, in that moment. He tried to move, and he couldn't. He tried to close his eyes, and he couldn't. He tried to wake up, and he couldn't. He was hopeless, and he was scared. What was happening? This was so unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, especially in a dream. What was he supposed to be doing? Why was he in this place? 

Yet another sound. This one, though, was a lot softer. It sounded like a voice. A woman's voice. It was barely audible, but he could still hear it. It was almost familiar in a way, but he couldn't place it. 

Louder this time, the voice spoke up. It was booming; so loud it hurt his ears. It was sweet, yet dangerous, like finding the most deliciously sweet honey inside a hive of killer bees. It spoke only a single word, but one that sent violent shivers down the length of his spine.

"Raphael."

There was static now. A loud, powerful static that pierced straight through his ears and into his skull. Into his soul. 

He crumpled to the ground in a dull thud, knees hitting the dirt.

Dirt?

The static had stopped. He opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized were tightly shut in pain. When he looked around, he was back in Eden. He could see the Tree, the Earth, the Gate. He tried to push himself up, but he couldn't feel his hands, nor his legs. He had them, definitely, but they were not there anymore. He looked at himself in the shallow stream he was lying by. In the place of his usual human-like reflection, a black snake stood stark still. He flicked out his tongue, leaving it out for a long time, trying to gain every bit of information he could. He drew his tongue back, and he could sense everything: the sun, the water, the fruits and other plants, the stone of the walls surrounding him, and one other thing he couldn't put his hypothetical finger on. 

It felt like sunshine, but more than that. It was warm, and gave him the faintest feeling that he was at home. That he was safe and everything was fine, but at the same time, he felt he should be watchful. There was an ominous vibe in the air, like something very bad was about to happen. 

Suddenly, he saw it. Rather, Her. She stood in front of him, exactly as he remembered Her, towering, regal, powerful. Beautiful as Creation. She was glowing a dangerous glow, as if She radiated authority, dominion. 

He could feel his legs again, and his arms. He looked normal again, but he suddenly felt naked without his glasses to hide his eyes behind. All he could do was stare into Her own eyes, suddenly growing ever frightful. 

Her voice was warm as She spoke, "Raphael, my child," She started.

He calmed down, smiling a soft smile. He had a wonderful feeling throughout his entire corporation. He felt like he was an angel again.

"You have disappointed me greatly," She continued, voice now cold as the stone which surrounded the Garden. Crowley's smile fell. 

"How is it that you've been unable to process your Punishment after all these years? You've had 6,000 years to come to terms with What You Are, and yet you've resorted to what? Pretending to be a little human child? You think that will bring your Grace back?"

He felt awful. It felt like his Grace was being ripped from his chest again, except this time, the woman responsible was right in front of him, berating him for something he had virtually no control over. He was crying now, hot tears which stank like sulfur poured down his face in thin ribbons, staining his Heavenly, white robes. He couldn't hear her anymore. He didn't want to, but he didn't know how to wake up. He knew this had to be a dream. She hadn't spoken to anyone in years, let alone any demon. This couldn't be real, could it? 

In a last-ditch effort to ground himself, he frantically looked around for Aziraphale. This was Eden, surely he must be here. He should be just over at the Eastern Gate, where he always was. He would be holding a flaming sword which he would soon give away to Adam in a selfless attempt at protecting the new Creations. He would shield Crowley from the first-ever rainfall under his wing, and everything would feel okay for just one moment. 

But Aziraphale wasn't there. He was nowhere to be seen. Only She stood before him, angry as all Hell, looking down at him with pure disgust. 

He felt himself going smaller and smaller, and suddenly his robes were wet. He was terrified and helpless. All he could do was close his eyes and pretend everything was alright. He imagined Aziraphale was there, holding him in his arms and running his hand through his hair and telling him that everything was fine. That he was there and he would protect him from anything bad and scary. He could almost hear his voice. In the distance, he could almost hear Aziraphale saying, "Crowley, darling."

He was shaken awake by someone. He screamed as he sat up, faintly aware of warm tears crawling down his face. He looked at the figure in front of him: Aziraphale.

"Crowley, sweetheart, you were screaming! Are you alright? Did you have a bad dream?"

As he took in more and more of his surroundings, Crowley could sense that he was shaking. He could hear cars slowly driving by outside the bookshop, some honking at others. He could smell Aziraphale's signature scent, like old parchment and sugar. He could taste that terrible bad breath he gets when he's been sleeping for too long. He could see the terribly worried look Aziraphale had on his face, his eyebrows knitted together. And he could feel a distinct cold feeling where his legs were. He knew that could only be caused by one thing, and he started crying again, hugging Aziraphale for comfort. 

He had wet the bed. The _one _time he had actually felt like he wouldn't show his disgusting, babyish traits around Aziraphale, and he wets the bed. Of course. Fate really didn't like him, did it?

He couldn't bring himself to speak. He didn't really feel like he _could _speak. All he knew to do was cry, and cry he did. He clutched onto Aziraphale like his life depended on it, getting tears and snot all over the angel's immaculate, pristine, white coat which he'd kept clean for more than 100 years, surely. 

Instead of reprimanding him, as Crowley expected, Aziraphale hugged him in earnest, rubbing his back and squeezing him tight, as if he never wanted to let him go. He quietly shushed him, finding the energy to silently miracle away Crowley's accident, as to make him more comfortable. Thankfully, Crowley didn't notice, simply continuing to cry into Aziraphale's neck. 

After a long while, Crowley's sobs turned into sniffles, though the traumatized demon still wouldn't let go. Aziraphale waited a little bit longer before asking again, "Did you have a bad dream, dear?"

Crowley only nodded, now deciding to curl up into Aziraphale's lap, head resting on his chest.

Aziraphale asked his next question as gently as possible, careful not to make the poor boy cry again, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Crowley hid his face in Aziraphale's chest and shook his head. From the warm spots of wetness Aziraphale could feel, it was safe to say that Crowley was starting to cry again. 

Quickly, and not missing a single beat, Aziraphale wrapped his arms tightly around Crowley, bringing him as close as possible, "That's alright, love. You don't have to if you don't want to. Why don't we just sit here together, and when you're ready, we can go have that ice cream I promised? That sound alright?"

Crowley sniffled, but nodded.

"Good boy. I love you, dear. I hope you know that," with that, Aziraphale kissed Crowley's head, now running his fingers through his hair in an effort to comfort him. Unbeknownst to the angel, it was working slowly but surely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 And too little. [return to text]


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <strike>can someone please draw Crowley in a duck onesie thank you</strike>

After that ordeal, Crowley could say that he was feeling a lot better. Aziraphale had been right there with him the whole time, holding him and telling him that everything was going to be alright. Maybe, thought Crowley, just maybe, Aziraphale had been right. 

He was feeling considerably littler since his nightmare. This usually happened whenever he had one, but now, what with Aziraphale now hovering over him like a worried parent, he felt like he couldn't act older if he tried. He felt safe, though. Aziraphale was there, he would make it better. 

Crowley eventually stopped hiding his face in Aziraphale's chest, before looking up at his angel. His pacifier had been placed in his mouth at some point, and he found himself absentmindedly sucking on it. 

"Are you feeling better, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, still running a soothing hand through his hair.

Crowley nodded, not wanting to speak.

Even though Aziraphale had cleaned Crowley up, he still felt he should give him a bath. Wondering how he would even react to that, he asked, "What would you say to a nice bath first, before ice cream?"

That sounded simply heavenly[1] to Crowley's ears. He nodded yes, again, and was promptly picked up by Aziraphale, who carried him into the bathroom. 

Aziraphale, being an ethereal entity, didn't need a lot of human things. He didn't need to eat, for one, but look where that's gone. He didn't need to sleep, either, but he was coming around to the idea of it now that he had a professional tempter—who just happened to love sleeping—in his house. He also didn't need to bathe, since his angelic purity kept him eternally clean anyway, but sometimes it was just nice to lay down and simply enjoy a nice bath every once in a while. Maybe even with candles and a nice book.[2] 

He sat Crowley down on the toilet, which he also didn't need, but was thankful for now that he knew Crowley could be _this _small. He ran warm water into the ancient-looking and somewhat regal bathtub, testing to make sure it wouldn't be too hot for the fragile demon. 

After meeting his expectations, the water flowed completely into the tub, filling it up. He even added just a bit of bubble soap, since he realized he hadn't bought Crowley any bath toys during his "preparations." He hoped the bubbles would be at least a little bit amusing for Crowley, after the terrible nightmare he just had. Aziraphale looked at Crowley for a moment, considering if he should let him undress himself.

"Do you want help?"

Crowley understood what he was referring to. He nodded and reached his arms out to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale stood him up and gently took off his clothes before guiding him into the bath. Crowley still had his pacifier in, and Aziraphale doubted he would want to take it out anytime soon. This was fine, of course, but Aziraphale also wanted Crowley to be able to tell him what was wrong. He doubted that he would say much of anything at all with his pacifier in, since he hadn't really been too keen to talk anyway. God, Aziraphale felt so horrible for making him nap, now that he knew how bad the nightmares could be. Whatever it was about, Crowley seemed to be extremely upset over it. He hoped Crowley would tell him with time, so he could try to make him feel better, but he had also known Crowley long enough to know that he wasn't one for opening up. Ever. He kept his emotions hidden whenever he could, out of habit. Poor thing. 

As he rubbed some shampoo into Crowley's hair, Aziraphale could still see little tear stains down his face, which only made him feel more terrible. At least he had stopped crying, he told himself. Aziraphale would just have to make sure he was super careful around Crowley. Perhaps they would have their ice cream, and everything would go back to normal. 

After a while, Crowley had taken the slightest interest in the bubbles. He was scooping them up and clapping his hands together, which made Aziraphale a little less worried about him. He seemed to be feeling better, even if he wasn't smiling yet, but it was definitely progress. 

When Crowley was sufficiently cleaned up, Aziraphale ran into a bit of a problem. Crowley had wet the bed, that much was certain, but would he continue to have accidents during the day? He didn't want to assume anything, being that he was very new to this whole thing, but he thought that might be part of why Crowley was crying earlier. If he had another accident, would he cry again? Aziraphale couldn't bear it. He didn't want to see Crowley that upset ever again, thinking that it had been partly his fault. He decided to just leave it be for now. Surely this time had been a one-time deal. If Crowley continued to have them, he would act on it, but for now it was probably best to leave it alone.

He wrapped Crowley in a fluffy towel to dry him off, paying special attention to his hair, knowing that Big Crowley would do the same thing. After he realized that Crowley might appreciate something soft and cozy after his dreadful nap, Aziraphale dressed him (the human way!) in the adorable, fleecy, duckling onesie he'd bought. The hood of the onesie had a little orange beak and everything. He looked so cute.

The two walked past the living area together and into the kitchen.[3] Crowley stayed by Aziraphale's side as the aforementioned angel scooped up some ice cream for the both of them. Crowley thought the packaging looked very fancy, as was per usual with whatever food Aziraphale kept in his kitchen.

When they sat down to eat, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley was having some trouble. He was holding the spoon very awkwardly, and most of the ice cream was getting on his face, instead of in his mouth. He had to take over. He gently wiped off the melted ice cream from around Crowley's mouth before starting to feed him. Crowley seemed to enjoy being helped this way, as he smiled for the first time since he woke up. Aziraphale smiled back in earnest. 

He alternated between feeding Crowley and himself until both of their bowls were finished. He wiped off Crowley's face once more before popping his pacifier back in, which the demon took to immediately. They went back into the living area, where Aziraphale figured he might reveal his (many) toy purchases to Crowley, earning even more delighted little smiles and giggles from him. Perhaps this day wouldn't be a total failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Pun not intended. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Waterproofed, of course. He wasn't _crazy_. [return to text]
> 
> 3 Crowley insisted that they hold hands the whole way, even if they were just walking a few meters. He was a bit nervous about leaving the angel's side. The skin-to-skin contact eased his anxieties. [return to text]


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay.... i literally had to write this chapter like 5 times cause i didn't like my attempts. It's also a little short, so sorry for that too!!!!!

Crowley was exhausted, but in a good way. After his dreadful nightmare, Aziraphale made everything better, even if he didn't realize it. Sure, he had brought him ice cream and cuddled with him for a while, but he had done much more than that, too. He bought him toys, and he played with him, even though Crowley remembered very clearly telling him not to go overboard, simply because he wanted to make Crowley feel like he was accepted. Now that he thought about it, he did. This was probably the first time in his entire existence as a demon that he truly felt accepted. He had been an outcast his whole existence, even in Heaven. He'd been sent off alone to hang the stars. He'd had friends, but they were definitely more acquaintances now that he thought of them. Never more than that. In Hell, especially, he felt like he was utterly alone, and yet even under the strange circumstances, Aziraphale had gone out of his way to show Crowley that it was okay to feel the way he did sometimes, and Crowley was now under the impression that he was right.

Aziraphale was always right.

The rest of their day in together (as if _every one _of their days weren't spent together, anyway) consisted of making up little scenarios for his new stuffed animals: a tan teddy bear he named "Honey," and a green python with yellow, slitted eyes just like Crowley's, which he named "Monty."[1]

Aziraphale knew that Crowley had problems with his eyes. It was pretty obvious, given that he always hid them. He understood hiding them from the humans, since they didn't very much look "normal" to them. But when they were alone, Crowley still insisted on wearing them. It was painfully clear that Crowley was afraid to show them to the angel, as if he was ashamed of them. Aziraphale couldn't stand it. He _loved _Crowley's eyes, and he missed seeing them. Ever since tinted spectacles were invented, Crowley took to them very quickly, never wanting to show his eyes to Aziraphale ever again. Aziraphale wanted Crowley to love his eyes, just as he did. If that point had to be made through a stuffed animal, then so be it. He wanted Crowley to be able to love himself. It's what he deserved after everything that happened to him. 

During their game with the stuffed animals, Crowley actually started speaking again, if only a little. He'd said aloud the names of his new toys, which Aziraphale was very happy about, and now, at the end of their day together, as he closed his eyes and hugged Honey close, he let out a small "Love you, Aziraphale." Around his pacifier, it sounded like "Love 'ou, 'Zirafell," but it still counted. Aziraphale could just barely hear it, but it made him melt inside. He lightly kissed Crowley's forehead before getting into bed himself, not wanting to leave Crowley's side in case he had another nightmare. 

He prayed one wouldn't come, but, for the first time in his life, thought it might go unheard.

Crowley woke up surrounded by love. Aziraphale was lying in bed next to him, one arm draped over Crowley as some sort of protection, which he appreciated. The teddy bear Aziraphale gave him was in his arms, hugged close to his body, a pacifier was in his mouth, and he was wearing the softest pajamas imaginable. He felt warm inside, and also very very Big. 

Despite this, he resolved to wait just a little while longer before getting up. He didn't want to wake Aziraphale. 

He couldn't believe how lucky he was. The love of his life was right there with him, arm around him. He had played along with Crowley's regression, and even helped him through a night terror while he was little. Who else but Aziraphale would do that for him?

He'd definitely had his doubts about that day. Even though, time and time again, Aziraphale had told him it was perfectly fine and that he didn't mind looking after him, he still couldn't find it in himself to believe it. Worse, he figured Aziraphale was only suggesting it to be nice. Now, of course, he knew that wasn't the case. After seeing Aziraphale so genuinely happy to look after him, he couldn't believe he ever thought that way in the first place. Aziraphale would never lie to him, Crowley realized. Not about something like this.

He heard Aziraphale take a breath in beside him, finally waking up. Crowley smiled and lightly kissed him.

"Thank you, Aziraphale."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Aziraphale didn't understand the reference. [return to text]


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you got an email that this chapter was out but it led you to a nonexistent page, I accidentally put out the chapter before I meant to. Sorry about that!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could have been two chapters, but I wanted to put them together since the last one was really short. Enjoy!
> 
> <strike>also if any of you wanna hit me up on tumblr @pottedplantao3 we could discuss the story and stuff!!!!</strike>

Their day went about as well as the two thought it could have gone. They were feeling quite good after yesterday, especially Crowley, who felt invigorated now feeling the love he deserved after all these years of feeling completely and utterly alone. They were walking around the streets of London, just like old times, before they had to worry about the apocalypse or the Antichrist or even being abducted by Heaven and Hell, respectively. They just felt calm, and it was wonderful, for once.

One wonderful perk of being an ethereal or occult being was the ability to not be noticed if one didn't want it. It came in handy more often than not, but especially now, as they held hands together, babbling to each other about anything and everything. They needn't be worried about revealing too much about anything Above- or Below-related, really, as the people who walked past them had no recollection of them even being there at all. They simply went unnoticed. The two decided to make a stop at one of Aziraphale's favorite, yet rarely visited, eateries, La Trompette, a delightful European-cuisine restaurant that made the most delicious gnudi. Aziraphale could not have been more excited if he tried, and Crowley loved to see him that way. They made their way there, a table having miraculously opened just a few minutes prior, and sat down to order. Aziraphale, being the predictable person he was, ordered his favorite ricotta gnudi, and a glass of water, while Crowley simply ordered a glass of white wine, not feeling particularly peckish at the moment.[1]

"Yesterday was fun, don't you think?" Aziraphale asked. They hadn't talked about the previous day at all, and it was quickly becoming a rather large elephant in the room. Sooner or later, one of them needed to say something about it.

Crowley nodded, taking a sip from the glass of water the waiter brought out, "It was fine," he answered, still quite embarrassed about the whole thing.

Aziraphale playfully rolled his eyes, "Oh, come off it. You looked so relaxed the whole time. It must've felt good to let go for a while, don't you think?"

Crowley sighed, smiling, giving his own little eye-roll in return, "I guess it did. Helped that you were there, if I'm being honest."

This made Aziraphale smile that sappy smile he always did whenever Crowley gave him a compliment, a look which the demon thoroughly adored, "Well, thank you, dear. I'm always happy to help, especially with things like this."

The waiter brought Crowley's wine, and informed Aziraphale that his gnudi would be out in a little while. They thanked him, and he went off.

Crowley swirled his glass, which he didn't think was strictly necessary for drinking wine, but made him feel like an aficionado. "So you liked it?"

Aziraphale nodded, and smiled a devilish smile, as much as he could manage, "You're rather cute when you're little, you know," he teased.

Crowley knew something like this was coming, but still blushed slightly anyway, "Alright, alright."

"I mean it," Aziraphale supplied, "Perhaps, only if you want, we could...continue?" He suddenly looked nervous. He was looking away from Crowley, at the table, taking a sip of his water.

Crowley thought about it. Of course he wanted to continue this—whatever they had. It made him feel so relaxed, to just let go and be taken care of for once. He didn't have to worry about anything, and he could tell Aziraphale liked it, too, though he couldn't fathom why. At any rate, he was sure that, at some point, he was going to go down involuntarily. What would Aziraphale think of that? Sure, he supposed he'd done pretty much that exact thing when he'd woken up from that terrible dream, and not to mention, had even wet the bed. God, now that he thought of it, he really _had _wet the bed. He felt his cheeks light up at the memory. While it usually didn't happen, sometimes when he woke up from a particularly bad nightmare, he was prone to do it. It could also happen if he, for some reason, had something to drink, and he could quite clearly remember being given some juice earlier that day. That was probably the reason. 

What was he supposed to say to Aziraphale if it ever happened again? He simply couldn't go on with himself should occur again. Also, why hadn't Aziraphale mentioned it? Perhaps it was because he didn't want him to feel bad about it, or he was pretending not to have noticed it to make Crowley feel better. 

His thoughts were cut off by Aziraphale very nervously stammering, "Well, if you don't want to, that's quite alright. No harm done. I just thought it might be nice if—"

"No, angel! I'd like it! I just. I'm worried about the...er...the _thing _that happened. After the nightmare," he blushed even deeper, thankful that his glasses hid the embarrassment in his eyes.

Aziraphale blinked, a bit confused, "After the nightmare? Was it something I did?"

"No! No, it's just the, er, well," _get on with it, Crowley, _"Well, I wet the bed, didn't I? When I was scared," he whispered, closing his eyes. He didn't want to see Aziraphale's disgust at the mere mention of it. 

"You're worried about that old thing? It hardly matters. I know it happens sometimes with children."

Crowley wanted to be anywhere but there at the moment. 

"I'm not a child, though, angel. I'm an adult. A demon. I never even _was _a child. Ever. Surely it can't be normal," he trailed off.

"Enjoy your meal, sirs," their waiter said as he placed the giant plate of Aziraphale's ricotta gnudi in front of him. They thanked him, and the waiter bowed slightly before leaving to tend to his other guests.

Aziraphale tucked his napkin neatly into his lap before looking at Crowley once more, "What _is _normal? You're a demon and I'm an angel. Human standards certainly don't apply to us, do they?" He took a bite of his dish, closing his eyes and smiling. He always seemed to forget about this place. Why didn't he come here more often?

Crowley conceded. Aziraphale had a point. It still made him embarrassed, though. Also, how was Aziraphale not completely disgusted by him yet?

He told him as much, to which Aziraphale responded, "It really is fine, dear. As I've said, I really don't mind taking care of you. It really makes a difference in you, even after this one time. I can see it. I promise with all my heart that I don't think you're disgusting, or whatever is it your mind is making you believe about yourself. If that's a part of you, I love it regardless." He said it so delicately. He was being genuine. Crowley couldn't take it. He didn't understand how someone could put up with so much and say they liked it, but at the same time, he knew Aziraphale wouldn't lie. He had no reason to. Not now.

"Thank you, angel," he said finally, "For everything."

After their meal,[2] the two made their way over to St. James Park to feed the ducks. With the help of a small miracle, the two began feeding them little bits of peas and corn. They had been meeting here since the park opened in 1880. It was their favorite meeting spot, mostly because of the ducks. They were such delightful creatures, both full of goodness and mischief. A cornucopia of everything the two of them had come to appreciate.

While they were there, Crowley found himself recalling the last time they had visited the park, when they had switched bodies. Aziraphale recalled, as well. Suddenly, they found themselves talking about their experiences, even though they had done the same before, right after it happened. With things like this, sometimes it was best to talk it out, even though it's been done. Perhaps it might help to think about the good parts, even though it had definitely been frightening to start off.

Crowley remembered seeing the archangels. It was the first time he had seen them since Falling, and they looked absolutely out for blood. He knew they were angry at Aziraphale for helping stop the apocalypse, but they had also attempted to kill him. Thank Somebody Aziraphale had seen that prophecy in time to save their souls. He couldn't even imagine what could have been. 

They had taken him to Heaven, which looked radically different from when he had last visited. It looked like a modern office building, all white and made of glass. No color. Despite the clean and Good look they were going for, Crowley couldn't help but feel uneasy. As he struggled against his restraints, he immediately felt extremely little. He was afraid, but he knew he couldn't show it, not here. Not _now_. They were so close to everything being alright again, hopefully. He had to stick it out for just a moment longer. He felt like crying.

They brought in a demon who looked vaguely familiar, but Crowley had never bothered to learn his name. Up until that point, he still had no idea what they were going to do. The body-switching thing had just been a shot in the dark. He knew they probably planned to execute him, but what if he had been wrong? What if he was just going to be tortured, or something worse, for the rest of eternity? What if he never got to see Aziraphale again? Never got to say goodbye?

When the demon started spouting Hellfire, though, Crowley sighed internally. Thank _S__omebody_. He would be just fine. He could only hope Aziraphale was just as lucky. Perhaps they would put him in a dunk tank with holy water, or something. He could only hope.

He had to school his expression. He widened his eyes at the sight, hoping that conveyed fear. The archangels made no indication that they knew anything about his plan, so they carried on.

As he looked around at the three archangels before him: Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon,[3] all he could focus on was their faces. They looked at him the same way they had on all the Traitors, just before they Fell. It was a look of pity, but more than that. Disgust. They were disgusted that he had the gall to stop the apocalypse, to alter the Great Plan, and that he had succeeded. In their minds, the Great Plan still had to be upheld. With Aziraphale out of the way, they would be able to have their war without any opposition. Surely God would feel the same way. Aziraphale had to go. 

As Crowley thought about it longer, they seemed almost happy. He felt enraged. _Keep it together, demon._

"I don't suppose I can persuade to you reconsider?" he tried, as snidely as he could, yet still keeping up appearances with Aziraphale's signature smile. 

They said nothing.

He grew frustrated. Perhaps he could guilt them. "We're meant to be the good guys, for Heaven's sake."

"Well, for _Heaven's _sake, we are meant to make examples of traitors," Gabriel responded, equally as snidely. Where had he heard that line before?

Gabriel gestured toward the swirling tornado of Hellfire, "Into the flame."

Crowley knew he would be fine, but he figured he'd give them one last remark, "Right, well. It was lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion."

He sort of deserved the snarky, "Shut your stupid mouth, and die already," Gabriel gave him.

He walked into the flame, thankfully untouched by any ill effects. It felt rather nice, actually, like being in a hot tub. He gave them a little show, spitting out the flames from his mouth, a sort of "fuck you" for everything they had done to him, as well as Aziraphale. Pricks. The looks on their faces were priceless. How he wished he had thought to bring a camera.

Coming back to reality, Crowley and Aziraphale made their way back to their bookshop. Crowley shook his head and blinked a few times, trying to be rid of the memory. It wasn't necessarily a bad one, but he didn't really like to think about it, either. The two had a quiet night in, again, and continued about their day, just as they normally did. It felt comfortable, and the two couldn't have been happier to be so mundane.

What the angel and demon didn't realize, however, was the scheming being made Below at that very moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Crowley didn't really like to eat. It made his insides feel all...gurgly. The only times he'd ever felt the need were if Aziraphale wanted him to try something that tasted "just heavenly." Who was he to resist? [return to text]
> 
> 2 And their little heart-to-heart. [return to text]
> 
> 3 He vaguely wondered where Michael was. [return to text]


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plot plot plot plot

Hastur and the newly-revived Ligur had been spying on Crowley since he had been able to survive the holy water. It simply couldn't be possible. It seemed like a much better idea to leave him alone after that, as he'd said, but they weren't the smartest demons in the world, were they? 

So far, it had only been a few weeks since the apocalypse-that-wasn't, and they hadn't heard much about how he was able to survive the holy water. Until today, that is. This was the first time, really, since Armageddon that Crowley had been outside where they could hear him, and he was with the angel. It was curious, really. Angels were the scum of the Earth—Heaven? Whatever. They were scum.[1] They were despicable, and every demon knew to hate them. Except, apparently, for Crowley. He was holding hands with him, for Satan's sake! How could any self-respecting demon be seen doing something like that? It just wasn't right. 

Despite having to watch this treachery unfold before their very eyes, Hastur and Ligur _did _learn some juicy information about the two: they had switched bodies. That was it, the holy grail. Aziraphale, which they now learned was the angel's name, had actually been the one they had taken to Hell. That was how Crowley survived the holy water bath—it wasn't Crowley at all. Suddenly, they had what they had been looking for all along, and they went to Beelzebub immediately. They navigated the familiar, filthy halls of Hell before reaching her throne room, where they found her, luckily.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, a very unnerving buzzing sound emanating from her when she spoke.

"My Lord, we have some news that you might find interesting," Ligur answered. If his voice were a feeling, it would be like diving into a pool of grease. 

She seemed disinterested, but continued on nonetheless. She had nothing better to do, anyway, what with Armageddon not happening any time soon, and their best operative in Hell being some kind of half-human-half-demon who could survive a bath of holy water. "Make it quick," she groaned, waving her hand in a "just get on with it" manner.

Ligur smiled like the Cheshire Cat, "We believe we know how the demon Crowley was able to survive the holy water bath."

This piqued her interest, just a touch, "And how did you get this information?"

"We've been...observing the demon Crowley since he was able to survive the holy water," Hastur chimed in. If _his _voice was a feeling, it would be like eating a handful of maggots.

Beelzebub grew angry, the flies buzzing around her head flying faster and more agitated, "Without special assignment?"

Hastur and Ligur looked at each other. _What do we do? _ "Yes, my Lord," Ligur answered, hanging his head.

"But, my Lord, we believe that—" Hastur was cut off.

"I don't care what you believe, you know you can't—"

"He switched bodies with the angel Aziraphale, my Lord," Ligur got in, just barely.

She stopped. The flies buzzing around her stopped, for just a moment. "Switched bodies?" 

"Yes. They took each other's forms before we could capture Crowley. The one we actually brought back, and the one who survived the holy water, was the angel Aziraphale," Hastur explained. 

She considered it for a moment before saying, "That would mean Crowley can't survive holy water at all, if he had to enlist the help of an angel."

Hastur and Ligur hadn't thought of that, but pretended they had so as to impress the Lord of Hell with their nonexistent conclusion-making skills.

"Precisely," said Hastur, "He has also been fraternizing with the angel Aziraphale for who knows how long. We must put a stop to it."

Beelzebub thought for a moment, "We'll need to keep a closer eye on him, then. He can't do anything to harm us, if he can't survive holy water. He's just a normal, run-of-the-mill demon. Tell me everything you can about him, and then we'll strike."

Both Hastur and Ligur smiled their devilish smiles, going off to watch Crowley's every move. Finally, something _good_ was going to happen.

Unbeknownst to Hell, Upstairs was formulating a similar plan. They had also been observing the two ever since the hellfire fiasco, and they had found some interesting information. Of course, the archangels (and Metatron, for that matter) were far too important to have their time wasted on simple spying, so they enlisted the help of a few lower-ranking angels. They did their jobs just nicely, just as angels should. No questions asked. Apparently, Aziraphale had been seeing the demon Crowley as a friend for the past few millennia. It was outrageous. How had he been able to hide this from Heaven for so long?

Then, as if merely befriending a demon wasn't bad enough, he had the gall to start _dating _him, the human way. He'd said he _loved _him. How could that be? A demon couldn't love, Aziraphale had to know that. Why was he wasting his time?

He'd always been a bit of an odd duck, Aziraphale. He had been sent to Earth simply because of that reason. He wasn't a particularly bad angel, but he'd always been a bit strange. It was strange enough that he hadn't simply killed the demon Crowley when he'd first talked to him, but now that the apocalypse had been averted, he had started to openly show his affections toward the demon. 

The problem was, everyone feared what God had to say about it.[2] She hadn't spoken to any angel since She'd appeared to Aziraphale as a beam of light, asking about the flaming sword he'd been given. Aziraphale had proven that the Great Plan wasn't the "Ineffable" one, but was that really what God wanted? Who was anyone to say, really? In Gabriel's mind, at least, Aziraphale needed to repent for averting the apocalypse and destroying the Great Plan. It was _written_. It had to come true.

As Gabriel was still reeling about an angel being "in love" with a demon, news came through that made him stop in his tracks. They had switched bodies. Aziraphale had survived the hellfire simply because the demon Crowley had taken his place. 

That was it, the proof they needed to make killing him more acceptable in the eyes of the Lord. This gave them the grounds to kill the demon Crowley, as well. Impersonating an angel had to be punishable, right? It was settled. They would gather more information on Aziraphale and Crowley. They would learn what made them tick, and when they could strike. It was all coming together.

Meanwhile, back at Crowley and Aziraphale's bookshop, the two were having a grand old time just being with each other. It never got old. 

They went about their night with a certain unmistakable glimmer of love in the air, which made two particular parties very, very angry. Now that they had their plans, though, all that was left to do was watch, and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Of course, Hastur and Ligur had been angels once, too. They had once felt God's Grace in their bodies, but after the Fall, their attitude toward their Brothers and Sisters, the ones who were lucky enough to stay in Heaven with Her, drastically changed. They no longer saw themselves as their siblings. They'd been excommunicated, so to speak, and were no longer welcome anywhere but Hell, and sometimes Earth. Truth be told, every demon thinks about their life Before. It was a part of their existence, after all. The secret truth is, they all look back on it with fondness. None would admit it, of course, as there were certain appearances to keep up, but there was still an ache deep inside every single demon that called for its missing Grace. Turns out Crowley had a lot more in common with his fellow demons than he thought. His way of coping was a little bit more interesting, though. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Being an angel wasn't as glamorous as it seemed. Sure, Heaven was clean and sparkling white. Sure, they still had God's Grace rushing through their hypothetical veins, but they all lived in intense fear. Ever since the Fall, all the angels now knew there were consequences for going against Her, which they took to mean "never do anything that would make Her unhappy." It was extremely vague, and yet they all tried their very hardest to uphold that, for fear of Falling. All the time, every angel was constantly second-guessing their every move, their every decision. It was exhausting. [return to text]


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I never update lmao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been like a week oops.

Aziraphale was surrounded by white, which was peculiar, given that he was quite sure the bookshop had been various shades of cream and tan just a few moments ago. As he looked around, he could see that the space he was in was vast, stretching almost endlessly across space, which was also peculiar, given that he was quite sure he was in bed with Crowley at the moment. When he tried to move his body, he found that he couldn't. It was only when he looked down that he realized why. His wrists had been tied down to a chair, and yet he could see no one at all around him. He tried calling for someone, but no one came. He was utterly alone. He wished he could at least see Crowley.

Suddenly, he could hear a voice. It was unmistakable, but also very faint. He could hear the Almighty, though She sounded a few rooms away. He tried in vain to hear whatever She could possibly be saying, but with no such luck. The situation dawned on him at that moment. He was trapped in this room, which he figured must have been somewhere in Heaven, and the Almighty was talking somewhere else. Who could She be talking to, though? As he strained to hear, he could make out a few voices. He could hear the distinct pseudo-respectful and rather American tones of Gabriel, and as he listened even closer, he could make out Michael, as well as a few others. He assumed every archangel was present. 

Now he was growing increasingly more worried. Why had Heaven taken him? Crowley was also nowhere to be seen, and he was so vulnerable. What had they done with him? Had Hell taken him? Lord, he prayed they wouldn't try the hellfire and holy water execution again, not now. Not when they hadn't been expecting it. Not when they had just started their lives together.

He was startled from his thoughts, however, by a kind and familiar face appearing from nowhere. She was exactly as how he remembered Her, strikingly beautiful, with long, black, curly hair framing her face. Large chocolate brown eyes gazing not at him, but through him. A smile which held secrets beyond anything he could ever dream of imagining. This was the first time he had seen Her since the Fall, when She had stopped showing Herself in Her true form. 

He looked with wide eyes at the archangels, who were all standing just behind Her. Their expressions were controlled, but he could tell they were happy about something. 

"Raphael," She said, "Welcome back."

Raphael? Surely She must know that Aziraphale was a mere principality, not the archangel Raphael. He'd Fallen, after all. Or, more likely, that's just what Aziraphale had assumed, since no one had seen him again after the Fall. It was strange, too, as no one seemed to remember his face, either.

"Your brothers and sisters have been waiting for you," She continued, seemingly unaware of Her error.

"Raphael?" He questioned aloud, regretting it as soon as he spoke. Her face twisted, but he continued, "I'm not Raphael. I'm the principality Aziraphale, my Lord. I've never been—"

Suddenly, he couldn't see anything. All he could feel around him was fire. It was burning up his wings, he could feel it all. His eyes, too. His legs.

And suddenly he was back in bed with Crowley, as if nothing had ever happened. His heart was racing, and he woke up drenched in a cold sweat. What had just happened? Had he hallucinated the whole thing? Was he finally going insane?

Quite a while later, when they had both woken up fully,[1] Aziraphale couldn't get over this strange experience. He'd never had anything like that happen before, but, he supposed, he had been living on Earth for far too long as an angel. Perhaps this was some side-effect of his 6,000 years with humanity. Maybe it was all catching up with him.

"Something's up, angel," Crowley said out of nowhere. Aziraphale wasn't the only one in this relationship who _noticed_ things. 

Aziraphale tried to give a laugh, but it ended up sounding rather nervous, "Whatever could you mean, dear boy?" He hoped adding on the pet name would distract Crowley from his questioning. He always seemed to like that particular name. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's absolutely—"

"If you say 'tickety-boo,' I'll rearrange all of your books," an empty threat, but one that worked nonetheless, "Angel, you've been acting weird all morning. Tell me what happened, please?" He looked at Aziraphale this time, his eyes unhidden by his sunglasses. Aziraphale couldn't resist.

He looked at his hands for a moment before finally coming clean, "I had such a strange experience last night," he started, "Please don't think I've gone insane, but I think I was hallucinating,"[2] he looked at Crowley for reassurance, which he quickly found, although the aforementioned demon did look quite confused.

"I was in Heaven, I believe, tied to a chair, and then..." he trailed off. How was he to put this? 'God Herself talked to me and thought I was Raphael?' Crowley had to be holding some grudges with his Creator after the Fall. He _had to be_. Aziraphale didn't want to bring up any bad memories for him...

"And then?" Crowley's voice was soft, gently urging Aziraphale to continue.

"Well, the, er, the Almighty. She suddenly appeared before me, and, er... Well, She kept calling me 'Raphael.' How strange is that?"

"Sounds like you were just dreaming," Crowley's voice suddenly turned very cold. He turned away from Aziraphale completely, standing up and facing the wall, crossing his arms. 

Aziraphale was absolutely hitting himself for being so stupid. He just _knew _he shouldn't have said anything. What if Crowley was upset? What if he brought up some bad memories like he had tried not to? "Crowley—"

Before he could get another word out, Crowley had vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Correction: _Aziraphale_ was awake, Crowley was _his own_ version of fully awake. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Aziraphale, a being who had barely ever slept before, had never experienced the wonderful (or sometimes painfully dreadful) phenomenon of dreaming. He simply assumed an angel couldn't dream, since they weren't necessarily supposed to sleep anyway, what with sloth being a sin and all. Turns out, even more of his existence has been a lie than was previously thought. [return to text]


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking around even with these irregular updates. I really want to keep this story going to the very end, but I've been having terrible writer's block. I'm also kinda stressed about things in my life rn, but of course I'm going to keep writing! I love how this story is turning out so far, and honestly I really wanna write more of it. 
> 
> A special shout-out to the anon on tumblr who wrote that lovely message! 
> 
> <strike>ps if anyone wants to drop by @pottedplantao3 and say hi i will love u forever ok bye</strike>

"Crowley?" Aziraphale called out, for what felt like the fiftieth time this morning. This wasn't the first time Crowley had run off on him, after all, they'd known each other for 6,000 years, and Crowley was never really one for explaining his feelings. His Bentley was still parked outside, though, so he couldn't have left. Problem was, Aziraphale had already searched high and low for the demon, but no luck. He was starting to get very worried. Had he said something to upset Crowley? He knew talking about Heaven was risky, since it might bring up some bad memories, but Crowley had asked. Of course, he tried to be as gentle as possible with the subject, but now he just felt terrible. He should never have brought it up in the first place. 

For all he knew, Crowley was hiding in some corner of the bookshop now, probably feeling very small. It was Aziraphale's duty as his caregiver to help him out, and yet he couldn't find him. How useless was he?

Crowley hated a lot of things: Hell, the Fourteenth Century, Oscar Wilde,[1] cold weather, et cetera. But the thing he hated most of all was, quite ironically, snakes. He hated the buggers. They were all weird and slippery, and had no limbs. How weird was that? 

He didn't hate them out of fear, of course, but rather out of association. He hated his demonic features, which just so happened to coincide with snakiness, so, in turn, he hated snakes as a whole. They reminded him of his demonic nature. Of Falling.

It was rather ironic, then, that he was currently curled up under one of Aziraphale's many bookshelves, as a large, black python. He curled in tightly, sticking his head underneath a part of his body. He hadn't meant to change forms, really. In fact, he was quite happy to never have to take that form ever again after Eden, but something about hearing That Name for the first time since his Fall struck a nasty cord with him. He couldn't stand the sound of it. _Raphael_. It was horrible. Just thinking of it gave him a migraine. 

Truth be told, Crowley had wanted to tell Aziraphale who he had been Before. He wanted to tell him all those years ago, when he had first emerged onto the Earth, and he had seen a wonderfully beautiful pair of white wings atop the Eastern Gate. He tried to say it, he really did, but he couldn't. Even trying to say the first syllable felt like fire on his tongue, and it left a dreadful prickling sensation for a few moments after. _"Crawly," _he had said. That was his new name, but it still didn't sit well with him. Too squirmy. Almost like God was rubbing the snake thing in his face. 

It also didn't help that he was feeling Littler by the minute, which made him more conflicted about the whole thing. He wanted to hide from Aziraphale so he wouldn't have to confront the (presumably) many questions he would have, but he would also really like a nice cuddle right about now. He didn't have to sulk alone for long, though, as he suddenly heard a frightened gasp from in front of the shelf he was curled under. It sounded like Aziraphale, which only made him feel worse. He had scared his angel by simply existing in his natural form. The thought would have made him tear up if he had tear ducts. 

Crowley felt himself being picked up, and gave a loud involuntary hiss at the movement. Aziraphale sharply pulled his hand back.

"Crowley? Is that you under there?" he sounded worried. 

Crowley had never meant to upset Aziraphale. It was the one thing he never wanted to do, and yet he somehow managed to always fail. He coiled in tighter, not wanting to look Aziraphale in the eyes, but felt himself being picked up again.

It took a lot of effort on Aziraphale's part, as Crowley's snake form was quite a bit larger than it seemed, but eventually Crowley sat coiled up in Aziraphale's lap. 

To Aziraphale, Crowley's behavior was odd. He had never seen Crowley turn into a snake after Eden, except for a few passing times when he would pull a scary face on a human, but this was different. He knew about Crowley's insecurity with his snake-like attributes, mostly his eyes. Why would he do this, then? To hide? 

Whatever it could have been, he didn't care too much. All he wanted to do right now was comfort Crowley. He must be extremely stressed, but how does one comfort a snake? 

Aziraphale settled for lightly patting some of the exposed coils, trying to coax his head out from underneath them, "Crowley, are you feeling alright? Was it something I said? I'm very sorry if I upset you..." he trailed off, not knowing what to say. He didn't know what Crowley was upset about, and, unfortunately for Aziraphale, snakes don't really emote. Or talk, really. 

Eventually, Crowley couldn't stand hiding any longer, and slowly popped his head out to look at Aziraphale. To his surprise, he didn't look scared at all. He looked relieved. He flicked his tongue out to be sure, but he couldn't sense anything was wrong.

Aziraphale smiled at him, "There you are, love."

He just looked so relieved and happy. Crowley couldn't take it anymore. Without trying, he slipped back into his human form and immediately hugged Aziraphale close to himself. He was crying, which was, unfortunately, the usual when it came to him being Little, especially after a flurry of bad memories from Before. Nevertheless, Aziraphale never asked him to explain anything. He simply hugged him back, gently rubbing his back and whispering nice and comforting things in his ear. 

They stayed like that for a few moments more before Crowley ever so eloquently said, "Little," to inform Aziraphale of his mindset.

Aziraphale, of course, knew this from the moment he saw Crowley under the bookshelf, but nodded anyway. "Do you want your paci, dear?"

Crowley sniffled and nodded, wiping a stray tear from his eye. 

Aziraphale moved to get up, but Crowley vehemently protested the action, instead preferring to stay with his angel. Although Aziraphale liked to do things the human way when it came to Crowley's Down Time, usually, he could make an exception, seeing how upset Crowley had been. With a quick snap of his fingers, Crowley was changed into some more age-appropriate clothes, as opposed to the blazer and jeans he was wearing. A cute, black sweater and grey pajama bottoms now took their place, and Aziraphale popped Crowley's pacifier in his mouth. He also brought in some reinforcements (his blanket[2] and Honey the teddy bear), just in case.

When Crowley was sufficiently settled, Aziraphale smiled at him once again before suggesting lunch. Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale scooped him up after placing a kiss on his nose, which made Crowley giggle, just a little bit. Just being with Aziraphale was already making him forget about everything. It was nice, for a change. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 No matter how hard Aziraphale tried. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Since the last time he had been Little, Crowley had actually started to call the knitted, baby blue blanket "Blankie." He would continue to deny this fact until he was in the cold, hard ground (i.e. never). [return to text]


End file.
